


treat

by nicole_writes, the human eyes emoji (nicole_writes)



Series: Sylvgrid Halloween [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Hilda designed Ingrid's costume SPECIFICALLY to fuck with Sylvain, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Smut, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot, Sylvain doesn't know what "Hands to Yourself" means, Sylvgrid Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27248854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/the%20human%20eyes%20emoji
Summary: Sylvain has had it with Ingrid's costume.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Sylvgrid Halloween [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989526
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	treat

**Author's Note:**

> this will make much more sense if you read the first part.
> 
> the prompt was trick OR treat.... why not both?
> 
> ;) hydration warning is implied

**treat**

* * *

Thankfully, Sylvain seems to understand her urgency and he is on the phone with the cab company as they squeeze through the bustling house, rattling off Claude’s address and then listing his own. His hand ghosts towards Ingrid’s but she pulls away, refusing to let him touch her. 

She knows that if he touches her here, she might pin him against the wall and give up on trying to keep their  _ thing _ between them. Still, Sylvain shadows her all the way through the house, across the living room and the make-shift dance floor, and she doesn’t deny that her blood is singing in her veins. 

Ingrid catches Dorothea’s eye from across the living room as she slips through it and Dorothea seems to immediately notice that Sylvain is following her. Dorothea winks and Ingrid rolls her eyes but continues heading to the entrance, just barely eluding Sylvain’s reaching hand. 

She snags her borrowed leather jacket off the hook by the door and pushes the door open, striding quickly out onto the porch. Sylvain hangs up the call he had been making and jogs down the steps after her. Ingrid stumbles on the uneven stones in front of Claude’s house in her heels and Sylvain catches her around the waist. His hand seems to burn through the fabric of her bodysuit and she bites her lip. 

“Hands to yourself,” she says to him, but she can’t hide the breathiness of her voice and Sylvain smirks. 

He drags his hand slowly across her back. “Gotcha,” he says, dropping into the lower, sexy tone of voice that he brings out on nights like this.   


Ingrid spins away from him, biting her lip hard enough to almost draw blood as her thighs clench. Sylvain lingers in her space, but he doesn't touch her again as they stand by the curb. Ingrid’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, reading the message on her screen. 

* * *

Felix Fraldarius  
  
where'd you go  
  
Sylvain and I are leaving.  
  
jesus fuck.  
  
NOT LIKE THAT.  
  
Well, it's kind of like that.  
  
i don’t want to know. i’ll distract dimitri but you’d better not fucking skip out on me on thursday  
  
Thanks, Felix. I'll be at the gym Thursday, I promise.

* * *

Sylvain raises an eyebrow at her. “Felix?”   


Ingrid huffs. “He’s covering for us and we’re damn lucky he is.”   


Sylvain smirks. “Did you buy his silence with something?”

Ingrid elbows him. “I’m not coming over on Wednesday. I promised Fe I’d work out with him on Thursday morning.”   


Sylvain frowns. “Oh come on, Wednesday is like our only consistent night together.”   


“And you’re lucky that I’m coming home with you tonight, so don’t push your luck.”   


Sylvain hums. “Well, really, I think I’m just rubbing off on you.” 

“I hate you.”   


“No you don’t,” he replies immediately. 

Before either of them can say anything else, a cab rolls up next to the curb and Sylvain grabs for the door in the backseat, opening it. Ingrid shuffles into the cab, sliding across to the driver’s side window and Sylvain gets in after her. 

Ingrid reaches up to pull on her seatbelt and Sylvain’s hand drops onto her knee. She tenses but tries to ignore it as she pulls the belt around, clipping it into place. She stares at Sylvain’s hand which just rests innocently on the inside of her knee. She presses her lips together and almost holds her breath as the cab pulls away from Claude’s house, heading downtown towards Sylvain’s apartment. 

She steals a glance at her boyfriend: he’s sitting halfway between the middle seats and the seat on the right side of the car and he’s not even looking at her, choosing instead to stare out the window. Ingrid resists the urge to frown as she stubbornly looks away from him as well. 

Her heart flips in her chest as his hand moves, the heat of his palm searing through her pants. He skims up the inside of her thigh lightly, stopping about halfway between her knee and her hip. His fingertips slowly massage the inside of her thigh and Ingrid resists the growing urge to snap her legs shut around his hand. The touch is still mostly innocent, even if she’s feeling riled up. 

The cab turns a corner and Sylvain uses the opportunity to slide a few inches closer to her, hiking his hand up in the same motion. He’s now resting it at the top of her thigh, his pinky finger just barely hovering away from the apex of her thighs and Ingrid clenches her muscles instinctively so she doesn’t pin his hand in place.    


He’s still not even looking at her. 

Ingrid’s breath hitches as he extends his pinky, drawing a featherlight line across the crease of her thighs and she watches a smirk curl onto Sylvain’s face. He clearly doesn’t know the meaning of the “hands to yourself”, but Ingrid is tingling all over and completely lacks the willpower to push his hand away as he draws the line again, pushing a bit harder. 

It’s only when he slides his hand again, twisting his wrist like he’s about to actually push his index and middle fingers against her that she grabs his wrist and yanks his hand out from between her legs. Sylvain is still smirking and she scowls, twisting his wrist until his smirk crumples and he tears his hand back, shaking it out. 

“Ow,” he mutters. 

She frowns. “Don’t start,” she snaps. 

His lips twitch into a smirk and she knows that he can see what he has been doing to her and he’s enjoying it entirely too much. She closes her legs, pushing her knees together and curling her toes in her shoes for the rest of the drive until the cab rolls to a stop outside Sylvain’s apartment building.    


Ingrid doesn’t wait for Sylvain to get out, hopping out the driver’s side door as he reaches forward to pay the driver. She stands on the curb, twisting the jacket between her hands as she waits for him to climb out. He pops out after a second, still smirking and Ingrid doesn’t say a word as she turns and marches back towards his apartment building. 

Sylvain scans his fob to let them into the building and Ingrid crosses her arms so that he can’t hold her hand. She pushes the up button for the elevator, but Sylvain is apparently done with her not letting him touch as he steps up behind her, curling his arms around her waist and tugs her back against him. 

He’s half-hard against her in the lobby of his apartment building as he rests his chin on her shoulder. He tilts his head slightly, pressing a kiss to her jaw, and Ingrid resists the urge to shiver as the elevator door dings open. She pulls against his grip and he keeps her close as he shuffles them both forward into the elevator. 

Ingrid manages to pry herself away from him and spin so that her back is to the wall of the elevator as she reaches out to punch the button for his floor. The look on Sylvain’s face is dark and sexy and she presses her lips together to hide the smile that threatens to curl on her face. His eyes dart up to the ceiling of the elevator where Ingrid sees a small black domed object: a camera with a blinking red light. 

She lets out a slow breath and leans against the railing, tilting her head at her boyfriend. “So,” she says. 

He smirks. “So.”

The elevator doors open and Sylvain grabs her wrist, dragging her into the hallway where he doesn’t wait for another second, dropping his hands under her thighs and lifting, forcing her to jump into him as he picks her up. Sylvain leans forward, pushing her against the wall right next to the elevator as he kisses her furiously. 

Ingrid sighs into the kiss, parting her lips and meeting him with equal ferocity. Sylvain’s hands wander up, palming at her stomach and then towards her chest and Ingrid snaps her head back out of the kiss, almost bashing it against the wall. Breathing heavily, she grabs his wrists and shakes her head. 

“Sylvain. We’re in,” she heaves out, deflecting another of his attempts at kissing her, “the fucking hallway.”   
  
Sylvain groans. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”   


He drops his hands down and tightens his grip on her hips, sliding his palms to her ass as he holds her up and staggers to his apartment. She locks her ankles around his hips as he digs into his pocket for his keys and her heels start to slip off. They’re dangling on her feet by the tips of her toes when he finally gets the door open and carries her into the apartment. 

He immediately pivots, shutting the door and pushing her back against it. Ingrid kicks off her shoes, hearing them thud to the ground. Sylvain doesn’t even bother trying to kiss her lips this time, going straight for her neck. Ingrid’s head thuds back against the door as she moans weakly as Sylvain goes straight for the concealed mark he had made earlier. 

Ingrid groans as Sylvain drags his lips and then tongue over her skin, lavishing her neck in wet, biting kisses. “Can we,” she pants, “move somewhere else?”

Sylvain sucks hard at her neck and she keens, digging her fingers into his scalp, scrabbling for purchase on something as he pushes her back harder against the door. “No,” he growls, lowering his head. 

He kisses down her neck, his teeth scraping and Ingrid pushes back against the door, trying to give him as much access as he needs. Sylvain’s tongue draws a line over her jugular vein and she whimpers as he moves on to nuzzle the exposed tops of her shoulders and down towards her collarbone.   


Ingrid closes her eyes as he sucks at the skin there and she tugs on his hair, humming as her hips squirm against where he has them pinned against his front door. Sylvain’s hands slide up, cupping the sides of her ribs and she can feel them burning through her bodysuit. She realizes a second too late what he is planning on doing and she curses Hilda internally. 

Sylvain tugs on the material of the bodysuit, but all he succeeds in doing is hiking it up, rubbing friction hard against the point between her legs. Ingrid lets out a broken, gasping moan and Sylvain pauses, pulling back from her neck. His fingers have dug into her sides as he had tried to pull the bodysuit up like he would have removed her shirt. 

“Bodysuit,” she gasps out. 

He looks annoyed but also amused. He slides one hand to her stomach, just above the waist of her pants. He tugs up lightly on the bodysuit again and Ingrid bites back a whimper at the friction it creates. That makes his smirk widen. 

“Interesting,” he croons. 

Ingrid smacks his shoulder. “Fuck you.”   


“That’s the idea,” he teases. 

Sylvain apparently decides not to tear the fabric of her bodysuit because his hands slide around to cup her ass again as he rocks his hips into her and kisses across her shoulder again. Ingrid pushes the column of her throat out and rocks into him until Sylvain grunts and wriggles against her. She looks down and watches him kick off his shoes and socks before he squeezes her legs and spins, carrying her away from the front of his apartment. 

Ingrid expects him to divert right, down the hall to his bedroom, but instead, he continues straight forward into his living room. He spins, dropping onto the couch and pulling her into his lap. Ingrid uses her position and her grip on his hair to yank his head back and then she rolls her body against him, leaning down to kiss at his neck. 

Sylvain groans as she repays him for the work done by the door. She pauses and admires the faint red stains from her lipstick and the bites she has left that mark his neck. She loosens her grip on his hair and slides her hands down to his chest. Because he’s Sylvain, the top two buttons on his shirt are already popped, so she works open the next one and then slides her hips back as her hands dart down, undoing the rest of his shirt. 

She slides her hands horizontally, under his shirt, and pushes it off his shoulders. He leans forward to shed the shirt completely. Thankfully, Sylvain has not followed through with his joke from earlier and actually worn a Superman t-shirt underneath, so her palms find the warm, bare skin of his chest. 

She shifts back in his lap again, pulling her hips across his legs until she’s barely sitting on him and pushes one hand against his shoulder, shoving him back against the seat of the couch. Sylvain smirks, but she raises an eyebrow, challengingly as she leans down, kissing the dimple of his collarbones on his chest. 

Ingrid stands up and then pushes his legs apart as she leans between them, dropping to her knees. She kisses down his chest and Sylvain swears quietly as she leads with one hand, guiding her mouth down across his skin, kissing, nipping, and dragging her tongue through the creases of his abs, until she’s leaning directly over his hips. She pulls back just enough to start working on the button at the top of his fly and Sylvain curses again. 

He shifts, sliding to his right and she moves with him, forcing him back until he’s actually lying properly back on the couch. She drags his zipper down and then grabs his pants, dragging them down. Sylvain lifts his hips, helping her, and then Ingrid straddles his calves, staring at her boyfriend’s face as she slowly curls a hand in the waistband of his underwear. 

His eyes are dark behind the frames of his glasses as she peels his underwear down. He kicks underneath her until his clothes bunch up at the far end of the couch and Ingrid wraps a hand around the base of him, slowly lifting her hand in a slow, twisting motion. Sylvain groans and his eyes shut from the first touch and Ingrid smirks to herself. She keeps her hand at his tip, pressing her thumb down against the slit and then sliding it in a slow circle. 

“Fucking hell, Ingrid,” he mutters. 

She hums and slowly inches back on his legs until she’s leaning over him. She pumps him again slowly with her hand and breathes out just above him and Sylvain groans again. One of his hands, big and heavy, grabs at her ponytail and drags her head towards him. Ingrid goes willingly, taking the tip of him between her lips. 

She slides her mouth down slowly, pressing her tongue to the bottom of her mouth as she swallows as much of his length as she can. Sylvain moans and the hand in her hair tightens. Ingrid massages the base of his length as she slides up and off with a wet pop. She strokes him a few times with her hand before she sets her lips back to him, focusing more intently on his tip. 

Sylvain’s hips jerk under her and she slows her motions a bit, trailing her tongue over his tip and rocking her hand up to meet her mouth as she bobs her head. She hums as she speeds up, bobbing her head up and down. Sylvain’s hand in her hair tightens to the point of near discomfort as he moans and guides her head up and down. Ingrid pulls off for a moment, catching her breath by wringing both hands in quick, fluid motions, slickened by his arousal and her previous work. 

She circles her tongue around his tip until Sylvain’s hips jerk hard and he curses loudly. Ingrid lifts her head up, breathing heavily as she watches Sylvain’s face contort as she pumps him with her hand. 

“Sylvain,” she sings. 

His eyes snap open and he stares at her. He looks wrecked beneath her right now and Ingrid smirks as she licks her lips and pumps her hand in a smooth, slow, rolling motion. Sylvain laughs breathlessly and bites his lip to hold back another groan. 

“This,” she tells him, leaning down so that her breath hovers over him again, “is what you get.” She kisses his tip, flattening her tongue along him in a slow swipe, and slows her hand’s strokes to a crawl. “For all your little comments tonight.”

“Fuck, Ingrid,” he breathes, almost incapable of other words. 

She jerks her hand down hard and fast and he groans. “Sylvain,” she teases, “are you going to come?”   


“If you don’t,” he pants, “stop, then,  _ fuck– _ ” he cuts off with a long groan as she wraps her lips around him and bobs down, sucking hard. “Fucking, shit, Ingrid. What are you doing?”

She hums around him, rolling her tongue, moaning around how hard and heavy he is in her mouth. Sylvain groans in his chest and he adjusts his hand in her hair, as she speeds up again. She swallows his length until she almost gags and bobs her head shallowly there before shifting back up. She circles his tip with her tongue as she comes up, breathing heavily.    


“Sylvain,” she taunts, her voice low, as she rubs her thumb into his tip, pushing around his weeping head. 

His name is the final straw as he moans long and low, his hand dropping out of her hair and his hips jerking into her touch. He comes hard and she pumps him through it as he twitches and grunts as warmth spatters his stomach. When he finishes, she slides her hand up in one last, slow stroke and smirks at him as he opens his eyes to look at her. 

“Holy fuck, Ingrid,” he grumbles. He shifts on the couch and Ingrid watches the ripple of his abs as he props against the pillow. 

“Mmm,” she hums smugly before she climbs off the couch. 

She leaves him breathless there as she heads into the bathroom. She rinses her mouth quickly and grabs a towel from under the sink, getting it damp with warm water. She returns to the couch to find that Sylvain hasn’t moved, still breathing heavily, but the arousal in his gaze is sharp and it makes her stomach warm with the way his eyes comb over her chest and hips as she walks back over him. 

Ingrid straddles him again, pushing his shoulders down as she takes the towel to his stomach, cleaning up his mess. Sylvain watches her silently until she’s done. Ingrid hops off of him again and dips into his bedroom, dropping the towel into the laundry basket. 

Sylvain is sitting up on the couch as she returns and she steps between his knees, smirking at him. He catches her by the hips before she can try to sit down and forces her to stay standing. His hands wander along the front of her pants until he catches the belt buckle, undoing it slowly as he drags her closer to him by it. 

“These pants,” he murmurs as he peels open the top of her pants, “have been driving me insane all night,  _ Sandy _ .”

“Then you should do something about it,” she suggests, leaning into his touch.

“Planning on it,” he says, leaning forward. 

Sylvain presses his lips to the bottom of her stomach, mouthing over her bodysuit, as he slides one hand back and over her ass before he starts stripping the tight leather down over her hips. Ingrid gasps as he gropes her ass and kisses down across her stomach over the fabric until his forehead presses against her hip and the position becomes too awkward for him to keep going. Ingrid wiggles against him, shoving the pants down until she can step out of them.    


Sylvain’s hands toy with the seam of the bodysuit, roaming over her ass and down towards the top of her thighs. He grins up at her and Ingrid bits her lip. “So,” he drawls. “I think we need to fix this.”

Before she can say anything else, Sylvain is rising to meet her and then he’s picking her up by the waist and slinging her over his shoulder. Ingrid shrieks as he lifts her up and she flails against him as he takes off towards his bedroom.    


“Sylvain! I can walk,” she grumbles, thumping her fist against his back. 

“You can, but this is faster,” he teases. 

He walks them into his room and dumps Ingrid over his shoulder on the bed. She lands on her ass and doesn’t even have time to really get her bearings before Sylvain is leaning over her, caging her back on the bed and forcing her to crawl back. He pushes her stomach and her shoulder until she falls back into his pillows. 

He pushes her legs apart and kneels between them, leaning down to kiss her neck again. Ingrid relaxes back into the pillows as she arches her back into his touch. Sylvain’s hands lift up and curl over her neckline as he starts to roll down her top. He trails kisses along her collarbones, nipping and licking, and she whines, pushing her chest up towards him. 

He pulls the neckline down, following it slowly with wet, sucking kisses that make her shiver. He covers every new inch of her chest with attention, leaving her with more than a few marks that will develop into bruises come morning. When he reaches the swell of her chest, Ingrid twists against the comforter, pulling her arms free of the tight sleeves of the top. 

Sylvain slows his pace to a brutally slow and teasing pace as he uses his teeth to drag the fabric down over the swell of her breast. Ingrid’s breath hitches as he grins and draws a line along the curve of her chest with his tongue and she swears that her heart stops for a moment as he works her top down to her stomach, fully exposing the lace bandeau she has substituted for a bra. 

He kisses along the top of it before he grabs the fabric between his teeth and lifts it up just enough that it snaps back against her with a pleasant sting. She whines, digging one hand into his hair as he mouths at her breast over the fabric, nipping with his teeth enough that she can feel it. 

“Sylvain,” she gasps as he sucks at the fabric, creating a small damp spot. 

“Hm?” he hums.   


Ingrid huffs and drops her hands off of him to grab her own bandeau and basically rip it off, throwing it off the edge of his bed. Sylvain laughs at her, but she frowns and he grins, quickly lowering his face back down against her chest. His teeth sink lightly into the soft tissue of her breast and she whines, twisting into the blanket as he sucks at her skin. 

He licks up the side of it until she is shaking and gasping and then he seals his mouth over the peak of it. Ingrid keens and pushes her chest out, twisting and trying to get him to do something other than flick his tongue over the sensitive peaks of her chest. Sylvain hums into her skin and then he abruptly pulls back, resting his chin on her stomach just under her chest. 

Ingrid yanks on his hair, frowning. “What is wrong with you?” she grumbles.    


Sylvain chuckles. “Aw, Ing, are you saying I should be doing something else?” 

Before she can reply, Sylvain shifts and his hand abruptly presses hard to the outside of her centre, pushing and rubbing the fabric of her bodysuit and her underwear up against her. Ingrid jerks at the sensation, gasping, but Sylvain’s weight pins her hips to the bed quite effectively. He rubs his hand along the length of her again and Ingrid bucks against him, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle her groan. 

Sylvain smirks and keeps a hand pressed against her hip as he lowers his head down between her legs. Ingrid shivers as his breath falls on the inside of her thighs, but his eyes stay locked on her. Her thighs twitch as he turns his head, dragging a few slow kisses up the inside of her leg until he’s just over the seam of her bodysuit. 

“Hm,” Sylvain hums, leaning forward. 

He rests his head right between her legs and Ingrid holds her breath as she watches him bite the edge of the fabric and jerk his head up until the little snaps pop open. He drags it up, using his hands to both hold her hips down as well as bunch up the fabric and roll it over her hips. Ingrid shifts, but Sylvain keeps her pinned against the bed with his weight, holding her down by the waist and then the hips as he lowers his head. 

He kisses along the line of her hipbone and Ingrid bites her knuckle to conceal a gasp as he is liberal with his tongue and his lips, sucking marks into her hips that mean she will have to be careful about wearing anything not-high waisted for a little while. Sylvain grabs the edge of her underwear with his teeth and begins inching it down. 

Ingrid rocks her hips up, but then Sylvain stops moving, letting the band of her underwear snap back against her skin. Ingrid frowns and looks down at him just as he brings a hand up. He grinds the knuckle of his index finger over her clothed clit and she moans, struggling against the hold he has on her hip. 

“Shh,” he soothes as he goes back for a second pass, holding his hand against her for a second longer until Ingrid’s whimpers break into gasps. 

He strokes a slow line along the edge of her underwear and then dips his finger underneath it, just barely grazing against her. Ingrid is wet. She’s been turned on and teased since Sylvain started making jokes hours ago, but it’s nothing compared to how wet she is right now. Sylvain’s smirk widens as he withdraws his finger, the shininess of it catching in the low light of his bedroom. 

Ingrid holds her breath as he lifts his finger to his mouth, letting his tongue poke at it while he holds eye contact with her. He hums as he does so and Ingrid bites into her finger again to hold back her whimper. Her legs clench and she tries to shy away from his touch, but his other hand digs into her hip, pushing her down and keeping her where he wants her. 

“Sweet,” he drawls as he lowers his hand from his mouth. “Might need a bigger taste to be sure though,” he says, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her hip, right over a mark he had sucked into her skin. 

“Sylvain,” she whimpers. 

“Patience, Ingrid,” he replies.    


He loosens his grip on her for a minute as he leans back, pulling his glasses off his face. He folds them and offers them to her. She takes them with a shaking hand and flails her hand awkwardly until she places them on the night table next to his bed. She also takes the opportunity to squirm out of the bodysuit, drawing it up and over her head.

When she turns back, settling down again, Sylvain wastes no time.    


He pins her hips down and sinks his teeth lightly into the skin of her thigh, just to the right of her centre. Ingrid whines as he kisses the inside of her thighs, flipping between her left and right legs, kissing and biting and teasing towards her centre, but not actually touching. Her hand snaps to his head, tugging at his hair as he works and trying to urge him to where she wants him to touch. 

Finally, Sylvain takes pity on her, pulling her underwear down and letting her kick the damp fabric away. He looks up at her, locking their eyes as he kisses slowly across her thigh until his breath hovers right over her clit and Ingrid, using her grip on his hair, pushes him down. Sylvain lets her push him and the flat of his tongue caresses her as his head sinks between her legs. 

Ingrid whines, tightening her grip in his hair and closing her eyes instinctually. Heat pools quickly in her stomach as Sylvain slowly rolls his tongue against her clit. He keeps his motions short and light, still teasing, and Ingrid writhes, bucking against him. Sylvain uses the tip of his tongue to draw a long line from the back of her folds to her clit. 

He leans back then, blowing on her lightly. Ingrid gasps and twists, but he leans a bit more weight on her to keep her steady beneath him.    


“You didn’t really think you could do what you did on the couch without a bit of retaliation, did you?” he taunts. He circles her clit with his lips and sucks lightly. Ingrid moans. “You’re a mess for me, Ingrid. I think I should ruin you.” He nips at her clit with his teeth and she gasps, her hips jerking. 

“Sylvain,” she whimpers. 

“Do you want me to ruin you, Ingrid?” he asks smugly. 

“Yes,” she gasps.

Sylvain fucks his tongue into her, lashing it a few times and she cries underneath him, her toes curling. “I think,” he hums, “you could stand to be a little more convincing.”

Sylvain’s lips suction to her clit and he sucks hard, rocking his face against her and Ingrid moans, her hands flailing. The hand in his hair drops out, landing on the bed as she grabs at the sheets desperately. Sylvain stays on her clit until she lets out a long and drawn out, whimpered moan and then he pulls off with a pop. 

He licks his lips as he leans against her. “How long have you been wet tonight, Ingrid?”   


She doesn’t dignify the question with a response as she meets his dark gaze. Her stomach is simmering with heat and it feels like her skin is crawling. Her nails are curled into his blanket and there is sweat beading on her chest as she pants. She’s already a mess and she wants him to  _ ruin _ her. 

He clicks his tongue and then returns to his previous work, drawing long lines up through her slit with his tongue, probing into her and letting his nose brush against her clit as he fucks his tongue into her slowly, teasingly. He alternates between harder swipes which make her jerk against him and slower passes which draw out broken whines. 

Sylvain shifts up after a while, returning his lips to her clit as he blows on her lightly before he scrapes his teeth down and over her. Ingrid arches her back off the mattress and her left hand releases the blanket, reaching for his hair again. Her voice breaks as she moans loudly. As she grabs at his hair, Sylvain takes advantage of her distraction and sinks two fingers into her. 

He hesitates then, holding his hand into her as Ingrid moans and trembles around him. The sudden motion had almost pushed her over itself, but Ingrid clenches around his hand and whimpers, pulling hard enough at his hair that she’s sure she has ripped out some of it. She can feel Sylvain grinning against her as he hums lightly against her clit, leaving his two fingers buried in her. He laps at her clit slowly and Ingrid gasps as he starts to draw his hand out. 

“Ingrid,” Sylvain taunts when he has pulled his fingers out to just the tips. Her hips cant against him and she bites her lip. “Are you going to come for me?”

She opens her mouth to snap a reply at him but ends up moaning loudly when he snaps his wrist in, sinking his fingers into her in a smooth jerk of his wrist. Sylvain sucks at her clit and Ingrid whines and shakes against him. The crawling sensation on her skin starts to burn as he works his hand out again, moving into smoother strokes in time with the sucking bites he leaves on and around her clit. 

Sylvain’s head tilts back a bit and Ingrid jerks against him as he slows the strokes of his fingers, pushing deeper and curling his hand inside of her. He watches her face with a heady expression and Ingrid’s hand in his hair twists his head, tilting it to the side. He scissors his fingers suddenly and she jerks under him, whining.

“I think you’re a mess,” he says smugly. The shine on his face is more than enough evidence to support his claim. 

His hand strokes in hard, curling at the deepest point and touching something that makes Ingrid throw her head back and swear loudly, alternating between foul language and his name. Her nerves are singing and her body is so tightly coiled that she feels like she is about to pop like a balloon. Sylvain drops back down, sucking hard at her clit as he repeats that motion. 

Against her, his breath tickles as he whispers, “come for me, Ingrid.”

His next press is timed perfectly with a firm roll of his tongue against her clit and the bubble in her stomach bursts. Ingrid’s thighs tighten and her nails scrape at his scalp desperately as she shakes and trembles against him. Tears prick in her eyes from the intensity of her orgasm as Sylvain licks across her slowly, leaving his hand settled inside of her as she trembles around him, riding out the waves of her high. 

He waits until she has stopped trembling before he slowly slides his fingers out and Ingrid clenches almost reflexively, shivering as he leans back, his breath just ghosting over her. Sylvain looks entirely too smug and Ingrid tugs on his hair, drawing him up. He crawls up slowly and his hip bumps against the inside of her thigh. 

Ingrid tenses and raises an eyebrow as Sylvain leans over her, grinning. “Hello,” she says. 

“Hi,” he replies. His hips bump against hers again and Ingrid hums. 

She glances down to confirm her suspicions and sees that Sylvain is, indeed, almost ready for another round. She now understands why he had drawn out the process he had just gone through. Ingrid slides a hand down between them and curls it around his cock. Sylvain’s hips stutter into her grip as she pumps him slowly.

She cants her hips up and traps him between her thighs. He grunts and rocks down into the flesh of her thighs for a few strokes before he stops, smirking. He leans down to kiss her and she immediately wrinkles her nose, shoving him away by his forehead. 

“Bathroom!” she orders. “I at least was nice enough to do that.”   


Sylvain laughs, but he rolls off of her and wanders into his ensuite bathroom. She hears the water turn on and then the buzz of his toothbrush and she realizes that he’s actually brushing his teeth for her. She smiles faintly and sits up on the bed. He has left her with an opportunity and she’s going to take advantage of it. 

She hops off the bed, hurrying to his closet and she pulls out the first button-up shirt of his she can find. She slips it on and does up the buttons except for the top three, leaving a generous window of her chest visible. She is about to turn back to the bed when his rolled up ties catch her eye and she can’t help herself as she leans out and grabs one at random. 

The one she picks is teal and there are flecks of silver through it. She hums to herself as she drapes it around her neck, working it into a quick, loose knot. She turns around and sees Sylvain has returned to the bedroom just in time to see her finish the knot. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees that she has donned not only his shirt but also one of his ties. 

“I thought we were getting undressed, not redressed,” he says smugly as he walks towards the bed. 

Ingrid bats her eyes at him as she climbs onto the bed. She crawls on her hands and knees towards him. “I dunno, I just thought I’d get a little more comfortable.”   


The dark glint in his eyes tells her that he knows exactly what kind of reaction she had been trying to elicit from him and it appears to be working as he climbs onto the bed and reaches for her. She pushes his shoulder until he rolls onto his back. His hand slides up her thigh to rest just under her ass as he pulls her on top of him. 

She straddles him, his length bobbing between them. Ingrid leans down to kiss him and he tastes cool like his minty toothpaste as he kisses her back. The tie she has loosely knotted around her neck dangles down and brushes along his chest and Sylvain huffs a breath out against her lips. His hands slide up over the curve of her hips, crumpling his dress shirt. 

“You had to pick a clean shirt,” he murmurs into the kiss before his tongue pushes at the seal of her lips and she angles her head, pressing him back in a deeper kiss. 

“Mmm,” she hums. 

Sylvain’s hands tighten at the top of her hips, crumpling the shirt and pressing the pads of his fingers into her hips as he rocks up underneath her. Ingrid’s breath catches as he grinds against her. His hands wrinkle the shirt further as he slips one hand underneath it, landing on her stomach and crawling up to palm at a breast as the other comes up to flick at the tie dangling between them. 

“What’s the idea with this?” he asks, his voice low. 

Ingrid kisses just above his lips and pulls her hands off of him, reaching up to slowly untie the tie from around her neck. Sylvain’s hand massages on her chest and she hums into the touch, pushing her chest out and sitting back from him. She has her plans, but if she tries to say anything Sylvain will definitely fight her so she has to have the element of surprise. 

She gets the tie loose and holds it out between them, pulling it taut. His hand slips out from under her shirt and then Ingrid drops the tie lower, underneath his hands and leans forward with all her weight, forcing the tie up and pushing his hands up to the pillow over his head. She keeps the fabric pulled tight with his wrists pinned underneath it as she hunches over him. 

Sylvain chuckles at the position and angles his chin up, kissing the top of the curve of her breast which she has unintentionally placed too close to his face. Her breath hitches as he kisses her skin and then Sylvain bucks underneath her, pushing off the bed hard enough that she topples sideways off of him. 

He rolls on top of her, pushing between her legs and snatching the tie out of her hands as she finds herself suddenly pinned under her boyfriend. Before she can fight back, he loops the tie loosely around her each of her wrists and drags it up towards the headboard where he ties it to one of the bedposts. 

Ingrid frowns and tugs at it, but Sylvain has had a bit of practice with this maneuver. Sometimes she can get a one-up on him, but he’s in top form tonight which she reasons is probably Hilda and Dorothea’s fault for dressing her up in leather pants for her damn costume. He’s probably been waiting for this since he had seen her at the party. 

Sylvain leans back then, sitting on his heels as he looks at her, wearing his shirt and tied to his bedpost and Ingrid’s stomach flips in a heady excitement. She wiggles up towards the headboard, changing the pressure angle on her shoulder and she watches his eyes dip to the opening in the shirt predictably. 

“Sylvain,” she says, “I would like to sleep eventually tonight.”   


“Hm,” he murmurs, “but I’m not done with you yet.”

He crawls around her to his nightstand and opens the drawer, slipping a condom out of the box, and he returns to her, still sitting back on his heels. Ingrid’s chest heaves with anticipation as she stares him down, watching as he rolls the condom down over himself and then finally moves towards her. 

Sylvain parts her legs slowly, running his hands slowly up towards the top of her thighs. He drops one hand to her clit and rubs a few slow circles as Ingrid keens, bucking her hips up against his touch. His other hand drifts up and cups her breast over the wrinkled material of his shirt. There’s a dark possessive edge to his gaze as he watches her as he works her with his hands that tells her she probably won’t be walking very well tomorrow. 

He slides closer. “Don’t scream,” he reminds and then he pushes into her. 

He doesn’t go slow like he normally does, pushing in a steady, but not yet rapid pace that makes her whimper and yank at the tie holding her hands up. There is no give and Sylvain grinds his hips into hers as he bottoms out. He abruptly shifts his hands, cupping the backs of her knees and jerks her legs up, lifting them so they’re almost slung over his shoulders. 

He draws out and thrusts into her in a smooth motion that has her mouth falling open as his hips slam into hers. Sylvain grunts on the thrust and Ingrid jerks so hard at her hands that the headboard rattles. She whimpers as he pulls out and continues his hard thrusts. His motions have an urgency to them, but they’re not  _ fast _ . He’s almost leisurely as he pushes hard into her and Ingrid whines, twisting her legs to try to gain and leverage over the situation. 

With her hands bound and him gripping her by the thigh, he has total control as he sets a firm, moderate pace. He drags out slowly on one thrust and hits something that makes her see stars and she bites her lip to hold back a loud moan. He repeats the motion and the second time, she can’t hold it back as she twists her head to the side, whining into her own shoulder.

Her chest heaves as he slows down, pushing and dragging to keep hitting that spot and Ingrid is sure that she’s going to die here, twisted in his clothes and his sheets as he taunts her on the edge of climax. 

“Sylvain,” she moans when a deep thrust finally draws his name from her lips.

Sylvain’s eyes are hot and dark as he matches that thrust with a shorter, faster motion. “So tight, Ingrid. You’re so good for me like this.”

Her voice breaks into a moan as he changes his rhythm to shorter, faster thrusts. He pushes her legs up higher, lifting himself a bit as well as she changes the angle. This has him pressed at the front as he thrusts, creating new friction that practically causes stars to burst in her vision and Ingrid curls her hands where they’re restrained, whimpering and whining in her efforts not to cry out loudly. 

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Sylvain continues, his voice a low, sexy growl. “You knew exactly what you were doing to me all night. I thought about taking you against the wall in Claude’s bathroom.”

Ingrid gasps for breath as he punctuates the claim with a deep thrust. “You waited,” she breathes. 

“So I could make you scream for me,” he grunts, speeding up his motions again. 

She tries to say something witty back to him, but his next thrust has her breaking into a broken moan. “Sylvain,  _ ah _ , I,” she whines, trying to wriggle her hips, but he just hikes her legs up higher and smirks as he continues his motions. 

She links her feet behind him and he shifts to holding her up with one hand and the other drops down to her clit. Ingrid moans loudly, arching her back off the mattress as he rubs hard circles into her clit in time with his thrusts. He’s still maintaining his faster pace and she’s buzzing all over as the touch on her clit sends her rapidly shooting towards her second orgasm of the night. 

“You’re a mess, Ingrid. All for me.”   


“Sylvain!” she gasps helplessly and at the sound of his name, he groans and slams another, harder thrust into her. 

“Mine,” he grunts. 

He rolls the bud of her clit under his thumb and Ingrid lets out a wailing moan when he thrusts in. The heat crawling in her skin bursts into a wave of white so intense that her vision darkens for a second as she convulses, clenching and unclenching around him as Sylvain fucks her through her orgasm. 

Ingrid’s shoulders ache from the strain of yanking on them and her eyes prick with tears as he continues fucking into her hard, not letting up on the touch he pushes against her clit either. She struggles against him, whining and almost crying as her skin crawls, overstimulated. Sylvain grunts heavily as she moves and almost loses his grip on her legs. 

“Sylvain,” she moans when he doesn’t relent. 

There’s a faint smirk that edges onto her face which tells her he’s definitely doing this on purpose, but she can’t do much besides tremble beneath him and arch into him as her nerves fire rapidly to try to account for all the stimulation she’s dealing with. He drags a hard thrust into her and pairs it with a pinch of her clit and Ingrid jerks against him, gasping heavily. 

“So good, Ingrid,” he grunts. “Come for me again.”   


“I can’t,  _ Sylvain _ , I’m-” she gasps, wriggling against him. 

He growls in his chest and rubs hard against her clit and Ingrid realizes then that she’s dangerously close to doing exactly what he had asked as she keens, her shoulders aching as she tries to meet his thrusts. 

Between his insistent touch on her clit and the heavy, driving thrusts he keeps landing, it only takes another moment before she’s wailing and slumping against him as her body spasms. Sylvain lets go then, dropping her hips and moving his hand as he catches her thighs and jabs a series of short hard thrusts until he’s groaning deep in his chest and grinding his hips in a smooth circle. 

Ingrid feels completely numb all over as he finishes and there’s an ache between her legs that pulses as he slowly pulls out and then crawls off of her. Ingrid is completely out of breath and her shoulders and wrists are aching, but Sylvain doesn’t untie her immediately. He dips into the bathroom and comes back with a damp cloth. He sits on the edge of the bed and rolls her towards him, gently wiping the insides of her thighs. 

He stands and tosses the cloth across the room, somehow landing the shot into the laundry basket. He slides closer to her, smiling affectionately at what Ingrid assumes is a completely ruined look on her face. He unties her hands then and carefully guides her wrists down. He tosses the tie away onto the floor. 

Sylvain’s hands are gentle as he unbuttons the shirt and helps her shed it, throwing it to the side. Ingrid still feels like she’s floating on air with her skin itching and buzzing whenever he touches her. She manages to sit up enough for him to strip the blankets back so they can actually crawl into the bed. 

“You okay?” he murmurs, sounding genuinely a bit concerned. 

Ingrid huffs and rolls towards him, tiredly kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’re a dick, but I’m good. Just,” she pauses, her chest heaving, “very worn out.”   


“Mmm,” he hums in agreement as he slides under the covers next to her. His arms loop around her waist and he nuzzles her neck. “Have fun walking tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> sunni this is your fault.


End file.
